


Night Fare, September 1978

by BobbyCrocker101



Category: Kojak (TV 1973)
Genre: 1970s, Baseball, Cab Drivers, Cabs, Checker Cabs, Detectives, Gen, Manhattan South, NYPD, New York City, New York Yankees, Serial Killers, Taxi Drivers, Taxis, Yellow Cabs, homicides, murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24060550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobbyCrocker101/pseuds/BobbyCrocker101
Summary: Bobby Crocker goes undercover as a cab driver in order to catch a serial killer.This is an original story set in September 1978.Feedback welcome





	Night Fare, September 1978

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters belong to me; I'm just playing with them for a while before putting them back in their box. No money is being, or will be made from this story.
> 
> I was 15 in September 1973 when "Kojak" first aired, and had other things to do. Now I'm retired I’ve finally watched this wonderful old TV show for the first time. I’m from the UK and have never visited the US, but have made use of the internet to gain information about the NYPD and the city of New York. I apologise in advance for any language confusion.
> 
> In the Season 2 episode “Nursemaid” (1974) Crocker’s ID shows him to have been born in 1943 which would make him 32 in 1975, but because he's occasionally referred to as being very young and is often called "Kid" or "Junior", my version of him was born in 1951 which makes him 24 in this story. In the season 1 episode “Deliver us Some Evil” (1974) Crocker mentions a sister, but since she's never referred to again, I've created my own version of her. She is the only 'biological' relative I'm allowing him to have. And as little is known about his back story, I've made up my own version.
> 
> Original characters: Vincent O’Hara, Officer Billington, Enrique Estoban, Sherry Macdonald, Leroy, Stephen Mansfield, Mr Mansfield, George O’Reilly Benford
> 
> Spoilers: None
> 
> Enjoy

“Right, first cop on the scene!” Lieutenant Theo Kojak shouted out as he fixed the gold shield in place on his jacket. He had been called to attend the suspected mugging and murder of a cab driver on Allen Street. His ‘man’ Detective Robert 'Bobby' Crocker already at the scene pointed to a young officer.

“That would be me sir!” a young fair-haired patrolman ran up to him looking eager.

“So what’s the story ah… Billington,” Kojak asked as he looked at the young man’s name badge. Flipping open his notebook he began to give his report.

“The deceased’s name is Vincent O’Hara, born in Trenton, six feet four, one eighty pounds, been driving for Metro since…”

“What did you do, write his biography? Just tell me what happened!” Kojak yelled. Bobby smiled to himself. 

“Well it’s the same as the others sir.” Billington continued. “Whoever killed him took all the money.” 

“Who found him?” Kojak asked.

“Lady over there.” Billington replied pointing to a tall, thin, hot pants-clad woman who was leaning on a nearby squad car. 

“Aah Crocker, you take the deceased; I’ll take the one that’s still breathing.” 

“Naturally,” the younger man replied to himself. At that moment the Medical Examiner came over.

“What’s the diagnosis?” Kojak asked.

“Lights out about an hour ago: single stab wound straight through the heart; just like the other two.” Agajanian replied. “I’ll know more when I’ve completed my examination.”

“Same MO?” Kojak asked.

“Identical.” Kojak thanked the ME and made his way over to the eyewitness.

“Hello Trudy. So did you get a good look at him?” he began as he lit the first of the many cigarillos he would smoke that day. The woman looked directly at him.

“Honey, I’ve already been through all this with 'Flash Gordon' over there!” She pointed at Billington who was now getting in the way of the Forensics Team as they checked out the cab's interior.

“How’s business lately?” Kojak asked. Not very well he thought if her current appearance was anything to go by. She sighed.

“OK, OK. So he was tall,” she replied, “and he was dressed up like that guy in the old movies, with the cape and all, you know who I mean, with the bats and the teeth, ugh.” She shuddered. “I guess he’d been to a fancy dress party or something. Oh and he had limp.”

“Count Dracula?” Kojak asked, incredulous. Trudy nodded. The lieutenant thanked her, gave her some money, told her to buy something nice and then walked over to the cab. Bobby was sitting in the driver’s seat writing in his notebook.

“OK, so what did YOU get?” Kojak asked. Bobby looked up.

“Well, it LOOKS like a robbery. There must have been a passenger because there’s a fare in the meter; dollar eighty. So wherever he picked up this 'whacko' it can’t have been far away.”

****

“Count Dracula?!” Captain McNeil yelled. After more than twenty years on the force he thought he'd heard just about everything, but this beat all. “There have been three murders in the past ten days and the best you can come up with is Count Dracula?”

“I don’t know why you’re coming down on US Frank, it isn’t even our case!” Kojak retorted.

“Well it is now!” McNeil replied. “I’m pulling Stein and Davidson off and putting you on, and I don’t want to see you breathing easy until these nuts are off the streets.”

“You mean nut; as in singular.” Kojak commented. McNeil picked up a folder from his desk.

“I mean nuts; as in plural. Take a look at these!” He handed Bobby the file which contained notes and artist’s sketches. 

“Captain, the MO is the same for each case; it’s GOT to be the same guy,” Bobby began.

“Keep reading.” McNeil replied sternly. Bobby complied and read aloud.

“All three were robberies, carried out at the same time of the day, all three drivers died from a single stab wound through the heart, and they all worked for the same cab company.”

“Now read the descriptions of the suspects.” the captain continued. Bobby read on.

“The suspect for the first murder was described by a witness as being a sixty-year-old wino.” 

“The suspect for the second murder was a long-haired Caucasian...” Kojak continued as he looked over Bobby's shoulder.

“…and for the third murder you come up with a description of a vampire, with a limp yet, and you talk about matching MOs!” McNeil finished.

“You think there are three different ones?” Bobby asked. 

“I think they all belong to the same club.” Kojak commented.

"And what does that mean?” McNeil asked.

“What does that mean?” Kojak replied. “I’ll tell you what it means Frank. It means that some guy out there, some weirdo who likes to dress up!”

****

Figuring that the cab company was probably a good place to start Kojak sent Saperstein down town to Metro Cabs on East 7th Street. The detective parked outside the single storey building and asked the drivers hanging around outside if the manager was in. They told him he should talk to the ‘Rican’ - if he could get a word in edgeways. Thanking the men Saperstein opened the door and walked into the office. He was immediately met by a wall of sound. An Hispanic man wearing a bright pink silk shirt and matching hat appeared from the back of the counter. 

“Are you the ‘Rican’?” Saperstein yelled, over the music.

“No, I’m a Swede with lead poisoning!" the other man replied laughing. Saperstein showed his badge. The man stopped laughing. He answered the phone which had begun ringing, said a few words and replaced the receiver. Looking round the room he commented: “I ask you, does this look like a pizza joint to you?” He reached over and switched off the music.

“Thank you.” Saperstein commented.

“Now,” the other man began. “Is this about my boys getting dead? Enrique Estoban at your service,” he took off his hat and bowed with a great flourish.

“Do you have any idea why these guys keep hitting YOUR cab company? Keep hitting Metro? I mean there ARE other cab companies in town.” Saperstein asked.

“No man,” Estoban replied. “I’m just a hired hand waiting for my big break.”

“Big break?” Saperstein asked.

“Yeah baby! I’m the Latino answer to Wolf Man Jack!” Estoban replied laughing.

“Well look, I’d just like to check the trip sheets for the first two drivers who died,” Saperstein continued.

“You got it!” Estoban went over to the file cabinet next to his stereo. Opening a drawer he searched round and then came back with a couple of folders. “Let’s see; this is Carter’s schedule for the night he was ‘dusted’," he handed Saperstein one of the files, "and here’s Harding’s.” He handed over the other file. Saperstein looked through them both.

“Looks like these two drivers picked up fares at the same spot; Rivington Street.

“Of course!” Estoban replied. “We have a stand down there.”

“What about the street itself?” Saperstein asked.

“Pimpin’, porno, all-night movies; that sort of thing,” Estoban replied.

“We picked up O’Hara’s trip sheet for this morning, but he never entered the pick-up location of his last fare.”

“You found him on Allen Street didn’t you?” Estoban asked.

“Yeah, on the corner of Allen and Broome Street. There was one eighty on the meter, how far would that be in miles?” Saperstein asked. Estoban walked over to a map on the wall, the detective followed.

“Let’s see, with an eighty-cent flag drop and twenty cents a quarter mile, that would be a mile and a quarter ride.” Estoban calculated.

“Mile and a quarter,” Saperstein repeated back, “Where would Allen Street be from Rivington?” 

“Let’s see,” Estoban looked at the top joint of his thumb and then placed it on the map, “an inch and two eighths, or a mile and a quarter!”

“A mile and a quarter, that’s excellent, thanks!” Saperstein turned to leave.

“Look I hope you catch this hombre soon. I mean aside from the obvious human element; half our drivers have already quit.”

“You’re having trouble finding new ones?” Saperstein asked.

“Are you kidding?” Estoban replied, “A man would have to be a God-forsaken fool to sign up with US right now!”

****

Back at the precinct Saperstein gave his report to the lieutenant, who in turn reported to the captain.

“We need a man on the inside Frank.” Kojak insisted.

“I agree; you got someone in mind?” 

“Crocker!” Kojak yelled.

“Yoh!” the other man replied. He walked into the lieutenant’s office.

“You worked nights as a cab driver while you were at the academy. Is your hack licence still in date…?"

****

A couple of days later Bobby was filling an old Checker cab with gasoline when a cab pulled up next to him and a female voice called out. 

“Hey! You’re new here aren’t you?” Bobby didn’t bother to look up.

“Yeah.” He replied.

“Kinda foxy too,” she replied. “I’ll be working down town tonight if you get lonely fella!”

“Sorry I don’t go that way,” Bobby replied. The woman laughed.

“Well at least you don’t keep it ‘in the closet’ like a lot of guys!” At that moment Bobby turned round and found himself looking at an attractive brunette sitting in another cab.

“Well on second thoughts…” Bobby replied smiling. “My name’s Crocker and I AM lonely”.

“I’m Sherry, lonely boy,” the woman replied. “Sherry Macdonald.” They shook hands and continued to make small talk until she was called away on a job. “How about getting something to eat later?” she called out as she drove off. Bobby continued to watch as Sherry drove down the road unaware of the gasoline that was over-flowing from the back of the cab and all over the road. At that moment Kojak pulled up in his car, got out, took one look at the hose sticking out of the back of Crocker's cab, turned off the pump and replaced the nozzle in its holder.

“What’s the matter with you Crocker; you never heard of the energy crisis?” Bobby stopped looking down the road and turned to face the lieutenant.

“What did Saperstein find out?” he asked as Kojak wiped his hands.

“Well it appears that aside from the money O’Hara was also missing a good luck piece; a gold medallion with an inlay of jade. Here’s a sketch of it.” He reached into his pocket and handed Crocker a piece of paper. “Oh, and there was something else; not only were all the victims working for Metro, they all drove old Checker cabs like this one.”

“So maybe there’s a lot of them,” Bobby replied.

“There are, but Metro only has five out of a fleet of fifty vehicles.” Kojak replied. “You were lucky to get one.” Bobby got into the cab and started the engine. Kojak fetched a walkie talkie from his car and handed it to him. “Make sure to check out the stand on Rivington as often as possible; all the dead cabbies picked up their last fares down there.”

****

So far the night had been quiet and Bobby had parked his cab behind Sherry’s at the Metro cab stand. He’d discovered she was a poet and she was currently sitting in the front seat of his cab reciting one of her compositions. Suddenly he felt a sharp nudge to his side. He jumped.

“Hey! You’re a NICE guy. You invite a girl out for pizza by candlelight and then you fall asleep for dessert!” He smiled at her sheepishly.

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “It’s been a long day, but at least I was dreaming of YOU.” Bobby replied smoothly. Sherry laughed out loud.

“Oh please; someone get me a shovel!” she exclaimed. At that moment they spotted a man getting into the back seat of her cab. “Looks like I gotta go.”

“What about me?” Bobby asked.

“You just keep your nose clean and your mind dirty,” she replied then she leaned over and kissed him. Bobby watched grinning as she drove off with her fare. Then the back door of his cab opened and a man climbed in.

“To the Eagle Hotel my man and I need to be there like yesterday.” Bobby looked in the mirror at the smartly dressed black man in the rear seat.

“Could you take the cab behind me?” He asked politely, “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Say man. I don’t care if you’re waiting for the Shah of Iran; I’m running late and I need to motivate!” Bobby turned to face the other man.

“There’s another cab…” he began.

“You’re wasting time man,” the fare replied. Bobby sighed and drove off.

****

“Say my man, you wanna step on it?” the fare began. “I mean like I turn into a pumpkin at sunrise.”

“Don’t push it sir,” Bobby replied politely. “I’ve had a long night.”

“Say what?” the other man replied. “Well now, if you’re tired and run down I got enough recreational supplements here,” he pulled his jacket open, “for a travelling crime factory.”

“Here comes the pitch.” Bobby muttered to himself. The other man continued;

“Man, I got ‘whites’ for that run-down feeling; I got ‘yellows’ for iron-poor blood, and I got ‘reds’ to just plain get down and boogie.” The man laughed heartily.

“Your mother know you’re doing this?” Bobby asked. The man carried on with his spiel.

“I got DMT, PCP and a virtual smorgasbord of ‘snappers’, ‘poppers’ and not to mention the ‘Venezuelan whiff’.”

“I ‘whiffed’ at the office,” Bobby replied. He turned his head and immediately spotted the medallion resting on the other man’s chest; gold with a jade inlay.

“Let me tell you something my man,” the fare continued as he brought a small bottle out of his inside pocket. “With a couple of THESE you could win an Olympic marathon!” Bobby held up his badge.

“Police, turkey; you just made a sale.”

“Oh wow man, I was only kiddin'!" the man replied.

****

“You guys can’t hold me on a lousy medallion!" Bobby’s fare shouted. The two of them were now seated in the precinct interrogation room along with the lieutenant.

“Well how about your personal medicine cabinet with intent to sell, Leroy,” Kojak replied as he lit a cigarette.

“Look I’m cooperating as much as I can,” Leroy replied. “I’m telling you, I found the thing.”

“So he threw it away right in front of you and you didn’t get a look at him.” Kojak commented.

“Like I said man; he was an older dude with a long coat.”

“A regular eagle-eye aren’t you?” Bobby commented. At that moment Captain McNeil walked into the room.

“What are you two doing here?” He asked.

“I don’t know Frank, where would you like us to be?” Kojak replied.

“Try Bleeker and Sullivan. Number four: they just found the body.” 

****

Kojak and Bobby arrived at the crime scene just in time to see the deceased cabbie being lifted onto a stretcher.

“I’ve seen him around Metro I think,” Bobby commented. “Name’s Benford...”

“George O’Reilly Benford sir,” a voice spoke out from inside the cab. “Forty-three years of age…” 

“Billington, how come you’re always first on the scene?” Kojak asked exasperated at seeing the excitable young cop again.

“Just lucky I guess,” the other man replied grinning from ear to ear. Bobby smiled to himself. He could remember a time when HE was as enthusiastic as Billington; it seemed an awful long time ago. Leaning out of the window Billington handed Kojak some papers. “Here’s his trip sheet sir. Oh and I found this other stuff in the glove compartment.” The lieutenant took the trip sheet and handed the other papers to Bobby.

“What does the trip sheet say?” Bobby asked.

“Same as the others; Rivington Street.” Kojak replied.

“I was working there last night,” Bobby commented. 

“Four deaths in four identical cabs Crocker; what is it with these things?”

“I don’t know lieutenant; maybe he digs the cab style.” Bobby replied.

“And why is it always the same cab stand?” Kojak continued.

“I don’t know.” Bobby replied. “Maybe something happened down there; something our guy doesn’t like; something enough to kill for. Oh!”

“You got something?” Kojak asked.

“It’s a report of an accident Benford was in: the cab companies make their drivers fill in a report for every dent,” Bobby explained. 

“So what did he hit?” Kojak asked. Bobby continued reading the report.

“According to this, a dog.” Bobby replied.

“A dog,” Kojak repeated.

“The mechanic’s report says there was minor damage to the right front fender and traces of blood.” Bobby replied.

“So what’s the big deal?” Kojak asked.

“Well, aside from the fact this is dated two years ago, these reports are supposed to be the confidential property of the cab companies.” Bobby replied. “So why did Benford have it?”

“I think we need to ask our local DJ.” Kojak replied.

****

“Someone broke in yesterday while I was out.” Estoban replied to Kojak’s question.

"Maybe he was trying to clear his name…” Bobby began.

“Well if he was there’s a whole lot of reports he missed.” Estoban replied.

“You mean other accidents?” Kojak asked.

“Benford? He was always hitting something; especially the bottle!” Estoban replied. 

“I’m going to check his locker. I assume you have a key?” Bobby asked.

“Yes sir, I do.” Estoban replied as he reached behind him and took a box of keys and a list out of a drawer. “Number sixteen.” Bobby took the key and headed to the back of the building. 

“Were you working on the night of the accident?” Kojak asked.

“Yeah, I was working that night,” Estoban replied. “But it was no big thing. As I remember Benford pulled in around six in the morning, semi-wasted. Said he’d hit a dog or something.” Bobby walked back into the office carrying a newspaper.

“Benford hit something alright,” he began, “but it wasn’t a dog.”

“What have you got?” Kojak asked.

“I found this in his locker.” Bobby replied. He laid the newspaper out on the counter. “It’s dated two years ago, same date in fact as the report.” They looked at the headline at the top of the page: YANKEES HOPEFUL STEPHEN MANSFIELD CAREER OVER AFTER HIT AND RUN.

****

Kojak and Bobby were driving back to the precinct when the dispatcher called on the radio.

“This is 723 K,” Bobby replied. They had requested information on the man mentioned in the newspaper article.

“Records show Stephen Mansfield left the Fairview Convalescent Home last month but left no forwarding address K.” The dispatcher reported.

“Does he have any relatives K?” Bobby asked

“An uncle; current address 210 Clinton Street, Apartment 17 K.” the dispatcher replied. 

"That's not far from where Leroy found O'Hara's medallion," Bobby commented. 

The two detectives made their way to the apartment building. Once outside Mansfield’s door Kojak raised his hand and knocked. There was no reply. He knocked again, and again there was no reply. He pushed the door, it opened. They drew their guns and carefully walked inside and found themselves in the company of a middle-aged man who was sitting in a chair over by the window.

“Whatever happened to good manners?” he asked sharply.

“Mr Mansfield?” Kojak asked.

“Who’s asking?” the man replied looking up. The two detectives realised he was unable to see. 

“I’m Lieutenant Kojak and this is Detective Crocker. We’re looking for Stephen Mansfield.” He handed over his badge; the man ran his finger over it.

“So you’re heroes.” he replied handing the badge back. “Stephen Mansfield is my nephew, and if you find him let me know. I’ve not heard from him in weeks."

“Well do you know where he lives?” Kojak asked sitting down next to the old man

“No. He moved recently, hasn’t bothered to give me his new address!” Mansfield replied, but his curiosity got the better of him. “What do you want him for anyway?” he asked.

“We want to question him in connection with some homicides.” Bobby replied as he quietly wandered round the apartment.

“Stephen? Why he’s one of the mildest and gentlest people that ever lived. He's probably over at the practice field. He's a professional baseball player: got a big game coming up; final of the World Series.” Mansfield replied proudly. He heard the creak of a door. “Young man, you can’t go in there, not without a search warrant!” Realising he'd been 'caught in the act' Bobby came back into the living room.

Kojak got up from his chair. The two detectives headed toward the door.

“You’ll forgive me for not showing you out.” Mansfield began. Kojak turned and looked back at him.

“You didn't say, but which team does Stephen play for?” he asked.

“The Yankees of course!” Mansfield replied proudly. Kojak looked at Bobby, then back at the old man.

“The Series finished last month, and the Yankees weren’t playing,” he replied. Turning they walked out of the apartment and headed back to the car. Once outside Kojak asked Bobby if he thought Mansfield was on the level.

“Not about living alone he wasn’t.” Bobby replied.

“How could you tell?” Kojak asked.

“Both bedrooms have been slept in, and there was a copy of today's Times on the coffee table.” Bobby replied. 

"You're improving," Kojak commented."

“Thank you: I'm trying," Bobby replied, trying to keep a straight face, "I’ll go and check with the convalescent home and see if I can find out anything more on our suspect.” He added. Kojak cut him off.

“No, I’ll check them out: you’re going back into the cab business.”

****

Bobby was sitting in his cab at the stand on Rivington dozing, when a loud whistle made him jump. Looking out of the driver’s window he saw Stavros and Rizzo grinning at him from their vehicle.

“Hi! How are you doing?” Stavros asked.

“I was dreaming I was somewhere else until YOU came along,” Bobby replied sharply. It seemed like decades since he’d had a decent night’s sleep. He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?” he asked.

“A little after 05:00,” Rizzo replied. At that moment Bobby started the car engine and made to move off. “Hey where are you going?”

“I’m heading for a nervous breakdown if I don’t get some sleep, and don’t try to call me because I’ll be off the hook.” At that moment, a young woman with bushy hair and a large floppy hat appeared at the passenger window. 

“Could you give me a ride please?” she asked, her voice was deep and husky. Bobby yawned.

"Sorry Miss: I’ve just finished for the night,” he replied kindly. Stavros grinned from his car window.

“Yeah, but I’m sure he’ll be very happy to take YOU wherever you want to go.” 

“Thank you both,” the woman replied getting into the cab. From her appearance Bobby guessed she was some kind of hooker. 

“Where would you be without us?” Stavros asked cheekily.

“At home sleeping!” Bobby replied.

“Well don’t run into anything!” Stavros called out as he drove off.

“OK where to lady?” Bobby asked.

“Could you take me to Bryant Park? I’d like to see the sunrise.” She replied. 

Bobby got on the radio and called the dispatcher to let him know where he was headed.

****

After speaking to the doctors at the convalescent hospital Kojak decided to have another talk with Stephen Mansfield’s uncle. Feeling the need for some extra muscle he picked Stavros up on the way. Standing outside the apartment, he knocked on the door. There was no reply. He tried the handle; the door was locked. Just as he was about to leave he heard the muffled sound of someone calling out from inside the apartment. Stavros took a few steps back and then running forward shouldered the door open. The voice was coming from inside a locked closet. Unlocking the door, Kojak pulled the blind man out into the room.

“What do you want? Who are you?" Mansfield demanded.

“It's Lieutenant Kojak Mr Mansfield. Where’s your nephew?” Kojak replied. “We know he’s been staying here." 

“Stephen,” Mansfield panted. “You’ve got to do something, he’s gone crazy.”

“Where is he?” Kojak repeated shaking the other man by the shoulders, “Where is he?”

“I tried to stop him,” Mansfield yelled hysterically, “but he’s gone out. He’s gone out!” Kojak pushed the man into a chair.

“Just sit down and calm down,” he instructed. “Alright; so where has he gone? Did he tell you anything?”

“No nothing; he was raving, said he was going to make them all pay. He said he was going out, and then he asked me to help him with some costume."

“Costume? What kind of costume?” Stavros asked, his blood suddenly turned cold.

“I don’t know. But he had a bushy wig and a large hat." Mansfield replied. 

“Crocker!” Stavros suddenly yelled out, remembering the fare the young detective had not long ago picked up. The two detectives ran from the apartment.

****

“That’s the third time round the park lady,” Bobby called out tiredly. He really wanted nothing more than to sign off and go home. “The meter’s in double figures.”

“Well I suppose that’s enough,” the woman replied. “Could you drop me at Jane Street?” 

“This is car twelve; Bryant Park to Jane Street." He spoke into the radio. Estoban’s voice came back acknowledging the call

“Would you mind turning the radio off?” The woman asked. “It’s rather harsh,” Bobby reached forward and switched the radio off. Then he reached under the seat and did the same with the ‘portable’. It had been a quiet night and he’d soon be signing off. Hopefully he'd be allowed to go home and not be asked to accompany the lieutenant somewhere. 

****

Running back to his car Kojak picked up the radio and tried to call Bobby on the 'portable'. There was no response. He then called Central and requested to be put through to the dispatcher at Metro Cabs, but it was taking too long. He heard the sound of a car approaching and saw another cab. Pulling out his gun he stood in the middle of the road and pointed it at the driver who screeched to a halt.

“Whoah! Hey honey all you had to do was whistle!” It was Sherry, the girl Bobby had been fooling around with earlier. The two detectives got into the cab and Sherry drove off. Kojak grabbed the radio and yelled for Estoban.

“Estoban! Come in damn it! I know you’re there!”

“Hey who beckons me so frantically?” the voice came back over the radio.

“Cut the jive, this is Lieutenant Kojak! Get a hold of Crocker I think he’s just picked up our killer!” A few minutes later Estoban’s voice came back over the radio.

“This is Estoban. Crocker isn’t answering, but the last time he called he said he was heading for Jane Street.

****

Bobby was parked on Jane Street wondering why his passenger was still sitting in the back seat instead of getting out, when he heard her start singing to herself. The tune was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it, and there was something 'off' about her voice. In the new light of the day he looked in the rear-view mirror at his passenger and realised that SHE was in fact a HE: Stephen Mansfield he guessed. Pulling his gun from under his coat he turned round to face the man only to feel a sharp pain as a knife was thrust into his thigh. He cried out and dropped the gun. Quickly he pushed the driver’s door open but getting caught up in the seat belt fell out of the cab awkwardly: landing hard upon the road, pushing the knife in deeper. 

Mansfield got out of the cab and stood over him, a baseball bat in his hand. He swung it at Bobby who rolled out of the way at the last moment, and the bat hit the side of the cab. The young detective desperately tried to get up off the ground. Finally he succeeded in freeing himself from the seat belt and somehow managed to dodge the bat as it swung at him again. Grabbing his chance he pulled himself upright using the cab for support, and staggered along the street and into a nearby alley. Mansfield slowly followed. 

After a hundred yards Bobby reached the end of the alley, and realised he was trapped. Wooden crates were stacked up against a dividing wall, but there was no way he could climb up and over in his present condition. He felt dizzy and sick. Blood was pouring from his thigh and it felt like it was on fire. Exhausted he sat on one of the crates. He tried to pull the knife from his leg, but then decided it was better off where it was. Stephen Mansfield was limping toward him, baseball bat in hand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge.

“Look buddy, I’m a cop." Bobby told him weakly." The guy who hurt you is already dead. You’ve got to stop killing.” Mansfield glared back at him.

“Don’t you understand?” he cried out. “I could have been the next DiMaggio, the next ‘Babe’ Ruth. I could have been famous, I could have made millions!” He looked down at Bobby. “Now THIS is my playing field.” Bobby glared back at him.

“This is NOT a playing field; it’s a dirty back alley!” he shouted. “And the game you’re playing is called LIFE!”

“LIFE?” Mansfield scoffed, and began to laugh hysterically. After a while he stopped, sank to his knees and began to sing again. Bobby finally recognised the tune: ‘Take me out to the Ball Game.’ 

****

Hurtling down the street, Kojak spotted Bobby’s cab parked at the side of the road. Sherry screeched to a halt next to it. There was no sign of his missing detective. The three of them got out and looked round. Suddenly Stavros called out.

“I got fresh blood lieutenant!” Kojak ran over and saw the spatters of red on the road, and then he saw more blood further along.

“Down there!” he called out. Climbing back into the cab he roared off in the direction of the alley. Stavros and Sherry followed on foot. Screeching to a halt just feet from Mansfield Kojak leapt out of the cab and grabbed the baseball bat from him. Running over he checked on Bobby. Stavros arrived gasping for breath and grabbing the cab radio called for assistance.

“What kept you?” Bobby asked weakly.

“We stopped for ice-cream!” Kojak replied sarcastically. Then he asked gently. “You OK?”

“Yeah, I’ll make it,” Bobby replied. “But I don’t know about HIM.” he added looking over at Mansfield. “Actually lieutenant, I think I’m going to pass out,” Kojak handed him the baseball bat while he cuffed his prisoner.

“Here, hold this.” he began, “and Crocker?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t pass out.” He handed Mansfield over to the patrol officers who’d just arrived and then looked back down at Bobby who was out cold, the baseball bat sitting across his lap.

****

A week later the team was in a bar down town. There was a cheer as the lieutenant arrived with Bobby. The young man had been resting up at home for a few days and still needed crutches, but he was feeling much better despite not being allowed to drink alcohol at the moment because of the antibiotics he was taking. Estoban and Sherry had come along to join them. 

“A publisher’s agreed to include some of my poetry in a book they’re doing about contemporary writers,” she announced proudly. “And Enrique is going to be looking after my career.”

“I thought you were going to be the next big thing on the Bachata scene?” Bobby asked. 

“I got me something better man,” Estoban answered looking over at Sherry. “What you are looking at is the exclusive manager of a soon to be major star.”

“Well, I’ll drink to that!” Bobby announced raising his glass of orange juice.


End file.
